Caked in bloody fluid, innocent flesh wiggled it’s way out of the constricting canal. Calloused, leathery fingers gently, but firmly grasped the matted, black hair and twisted the head back and forth to aid his arrival. With lungs bursting full of fluid, the newborn fearfully gasped to fill his chest with his first breath. Fear. For the first time, fear had overwhelmed the tiny form, a completely foreign feeling.

Wails of a baby’s first cry filled the square, adobe-like walls, as anxious bystanders peered over the worn mother’s limp shoulders to a get a glimpse at the newborn now being held high in his father’s burly hands. “My first born, son!” cried the father, but “the knowing” convicted his heart as he declared the words.

“He looks like his mother.” whispered an aunt to her daughter peeking through the narrow doorway that lead to the rooms upstairs, where the relatives crammed into the one guest room of the family abode. Overcrowded conditions had forced the young couple into the quarters were the animals were kept.

“How can you be sure who the father is?” jabbed a cousin from behind a pulled, tattered curtain. The new mother’s cheeks burned red. A lamb bleated for milk dripping from the nearby nipple of the ewe. The infant’s eyes blinked open at his mother’s sigh of embarrassment, but all he could see was blurry shadows. A land filled with shadows. He had known no shadows before now.

The father placed the screaming baby in the gentle arms of his mother. Blood smeared across her cheek, as she kissed his forehead. Born in blood. Skin to skin.

The warmth calmed the baby’s cries, as the father grabbed his freshly sharpened dagger tucked tightly in the worn leather belt that hung from his hip. He quickly grabbed the umbilical in his hand and sliced the life flowing connection between mother and son. Though not painful, the boy knew He was now separated from everything He had known before.

A new, gnawing sensation overcame him. Hunger. Again, a foreign feeling. Tears filled his clear, brown eyes, as he began to whimper and then nuzzle, his perfect lips sucking her skin searching for nourishment. The mother quickly pulled him to her engorged breast, as the tingling sensation of milk flowing surged. Quickly, the suckling soothed his tummy’s growl with the life–sustaining gold, as richness dripped from the corners of his mouth. Contentment spread over his tiny frame, while a sense of wonder filled his mother.

A warm, wet cloth enveloped the baby’s limbs one by one, leaving a clean coolness on his skin. Then strips of muslin were wound around and around with his arms and legs tucked up against his body, constricting and confining his movements. “How can the one who created the universe be confined in flesh?” thought the mother.

“What’s his name?” came the gruff voice of an uncle from across the room.

“Jesus. His name is Jesus.” Joseph simply stated.

The uncle shook his head in disgust. “Couldn’t even give him a family name? Maybe the rumors are true. But why didn’t he just put her away quietly?” he thought to himself.

The baby knowing the condemning thoughts, glanced in the direction of the Uncle. Sadness rose. “What is this feeling, Abba? Abba? Am I all alone now? Do you hear me?” he thought.

A still voice from within whispered, “I’m right here, my son. Yes, you will now know sadness. You will be known as a man of grief. You will feel this often.” Again, a tear appeared in the corner of his eye, while two rams with manure caked bellies butted each other in the corner.

Cradled against the smooth skin of his mother, he drew a deep breath of air mingled with the musty scent of dirt, hay, lanolin, dung, and a pot of stew brewing upstairs. His eye lids grew heavy. He blinked to stay awake, but finally he gave in to sleep. While rocking and singing a soothing Hebrew lullaby sung throughout generations, his body went limp in his mother’s embrace. His breathing slowed and deepened.

Her voice trailed off, “numi numi k’tanati, numi numi nim!”(sleep, sleep, my little one, sleep, sleep) The aunt shushed those remaining in the room sending them upstairs and off to bed.

The mother and father stared at the child resting in her arms. “How can this be?” she thought. “The Holy, I Am, asleep in my arms?” She turned her face towards her young, betrothed husband. “How can this be?”

A gentle knock came to the door. “Who could it be this late in the evening?” said Joseph. The thought of a cruel Roman soldier demanding a loaf of bread flew through his mind. Seething, his heart beat quickened and sweat beaded across his tanned forehead. He moved quickly to avert the intruders, before they woke the baby.

Reluctantly, the beaming face of a young shepherdess appeared in the darkened doorway. Light shone from her eyes as fire from within danced. Several other shepherdess crowded in behind her, pushing to see in.

“We’ve come to see the baby.” the leader of the small band breathlessly declared.

“The baby? How did you know?” Joseph stood motionless for a moment. “Well. Come in. Come in. Of course, you can see the baby.”

A tale of a host of angels appearing in the sky announcing the birth of Messiah tumbled from their trembling lips all at once. “We left our sheep in the field, and ran to where the new star showed us.”

“The new star?” questioned Joseph. He ran outside to see for himself this miracle. With his head cocked backward, a glorious light shone above the Bethlehem home streaming beams of light like a beacon down to earth.

As the young girl cautiously approached Mary, the baby stirred. “Come. Come and see Messiah.”

Jesus awoke staring into the face of a child not many years older than he. The young girl smiled, touching his cheek softly. “A baby. Messiah comes as a baby.” She turned to Mary. “The angel said, ‘Fear not. For I bring you tidings of great joy.’” She turned back to look into the gentle eyes. “Messiah.” With a hand on her heart, she stepped back for the others to see.

Great joy and compassion filled the heart of the baby, as he watched each shepherdess stare in wonder. “For these, Abba? I’ve come for these?”

“Yes, my son, for the least of these. They are ready to receive you.” came the whisper inside again.

“Abba, will all receive me as these precious ones?”

“No, my son, many will reject you. You will rejected by many in Israel. But not all.”

The door closed behind the young girls as they rushed into the night to tell others of the wonders they had just witnessed. As the story was retold to many unexpecting bystanders, the story of angels appearing to lowly shepherds many wondered what could this miracle mean.

“Joseph, we need a place for Jesus to sleep.” Mary meekly reminded her husband.

“Of course, my dove. Of course.” He quickly looked around the room to see what he could use. The only thing suitable was a feed trough for the animals. He sighed. “Why couldn’t Messiah have been born in a palace or to rich people? He is the King.” Joseph shook his head in dismay.

“I am not fit to be the father of Messiah.” This time Joseph spoke to the ceiling.

“What is this feeling, Abba?” thought Jesus.

“That is the feeling of guilt and condemnation. Our enemy’s finest weapons. Many will use that against you. One day you will bear all their guilt, my son.”

Jesus let out a small whimper at the thought. Mary checked his cloths. “Time to change him. I’ll take care of Jesus, my husband. You prepare his bed.”

The leg of the feed trough was loose, so Joseph being a good carpenter always carried a nail and hammer in his cloak pocket. Resourcefully, he pulled out his tools and hammered the nail into the wooden plank holding up the trough. Bang! His hammer missed the mark smashing his thumb.

“Ouch!” He flung his injured finger back, then thrust it in his mouth sucking on it. Silently, he whispered curses under his breath. I can not even get the manger fixed right!”

The sound of the hammer hitting the nail and thrusting through the wood alarmed Jesus. As his father cursed in pain, a sharp sensation jabbed through the baby’s own wrist. An image of the nail being thrust through his tender flesh flashed across his mind. He wailed, as his mama patted dry his behind and wrapped him tightly in clean cloths again.

“Abba, is it true? Is that what I’ve come to do?”

“Son, you’ve come to lay down your life, so that they can be free. I love them, my son, it is the only way.”

A lamb bleated, Jesus turned to look to see where the noise had come from. “Like a little, innocent lamb, Abba?”

“Like a little, innocent lamb, my son. You will become the sacrifice that takes away the sins of all mankind.”

Joseph finished his work, lay fresh hay in the trough, gently took Jesus from Mary, laid him in the manger. The baby drifted off to sleep again, as the sheep settled around him. Joseph wrapped his arms around his exhausted wife. As she leaned back into his embrace, she too found sleep, while Joseph watchfully guarded the precious treasure that was entrusted to his care. 

For He (the servant of God) grew up before Him like a tender shoot (plant), and like a root out of dry ground; He has no stately form or majestic splendor that we should look at Him, nor (handsome) appearance that would be attracted to Him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrow and pain and acquainted with grief; And like One from whom men hide their faces, He was despised, and we did not appreciate His worth or esteem Him. But (in fact) He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows and pains; Yet we ignorantly assumed that He was stricken, Struck down by God and degraded and humiliated by Him. But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our wickedness (our sin, our injustice, our wrongdoing); The punishment (required) for our well-being fell on Him, And by His stripes (wounds) we are healed.” Is. 53:2-5

Caked in bloody fluid, innocent flesh wiggled it’s way out of the constricting canal. Calloused, leathery fingers gently, but firmly grasped the matted, black hair and twisted the head back and forth to aid his arrival. With lungs bursting full of fluid, the newborn fearfully gasped to fill his chest with his first breath. Fear. For the first time, fear had overwhelmed the tiny form, a completely foreign feeling.

Wails of a baby’s first cry filled the square, adobe-like walls, as anxious bystanders peered over the worn mother’s limp shoulders to a get a glimpse at the newborn now being held high in his father’s burly hands. “My first born, son!” cried the father, but “the knowing” convicted his heart as he declared the words.

“He looks like his mother.” whispered an aunt to her daughter peeking through the narrow doorway that lead to the rooms upstairs, where the relatives crammed into the one guest room of the family abode. Overcrowded conditions had forced the young couple into the quarters were the animals were kept.

“How can you be sure who the father is?” jabbed a cousin from behind a pulled, tattered curtain. The new mother’s cheeks burned red. A lamb bleated for milk dripping from the nearby nipple of the ewe. The infant’s eyes blinked open at his mother’s sigh of embarrassment, but all he could see was blurry shadows. A land filled with shadows. He had known no shadows before now.

The father placed the screaming baby in the gentle arms of his mother. Blood smeared across her cheek, as she kissed his forehead. Born in blood. Skin to skin.

The warmth calmed the baby’s cries, as the father grabbed his freshly sharpened dagger tucked tightly in the worn leather belt that hung from his hip. He quickly grabbed the umbilical in his hand and sliced the life flowing connection between mother and son. Though not painful, the boy knew He was now separated from everything He had known before.

A new, gnawing sensation overcame him. Hunger. Again, a foreign feeling. Tears filled his clear, brown eyes, as he began to whimper and then nuzzle, his perfect lips sucking her skin searching for nourishment. The mother quickly pulled him to her engorged breast, as the tingling sensation of milk flowing surged. Quickly, the suckling soothed his tummy’s growl with the life–sustaining gold, as richness dripped from the corners of his mouth. Contentment spread over his tiny frame, while a sense of wonder filled his mother.

A warm, wet cloth enveloped the baby’s limbs one by one, leaving a clean coolness on his skin. Then strips of muslin were wound around and around with his arms and legs tucked up against his body, constricting and confining his movements. “How can the one who created the universe be confined in flesh?” thought the mother.

“What’s his name?” came the gruff voice of an uncle from across the room.  “Jesus. His name is Jesus.” Joseph simply stated.

The uncle shook his head in disgust. “Couldn’t even give him a family name? Maybe the rumors are true. But why didn’t he just put her away quietly?” he thought to himself.

The baby knowing the condemning thoughts, glanced in the direction of the Uncle. Sadness rose. “What is this feeling, Abba? Abba? Am I all alone now? Do you hear me?” he thought.

A still voice from within whispered, “I’m right here, my son. Yes, you will now know sadness. You will be known as a man of grief. You will feel this often.” Again, a tear appeared in the corner of his eye, while two rams with manure caked bellies butted each other in the corner.

Cradled against the smooth skin of his mother, he drew a deep breath of air mingled with the musty scent of dirt, hay, lanolin, dung, and a pot of stew brewing upstairs. His eye lids grew heavy. He blinked to stay awake, but finally he gave in to sleep. While rocking and singing a soothing Hebrew lullaby sung throughout generations, his body went limp in his mother’s embrace. His breathing slowed and deepened.

Her voice trailed off, “numi numi k’tanati, numi numi nim!” (sleep, sleep, my little one, sleep, sleep, sleep!). The aunt shushed those remaining in the room sending upstairs and off to bed.

The mother and father stared at the child resting in her arms. “How can this be?” she thought. “The Holy, Great I Am, asleep in my arms?” She turned her face towards her young, betrothed husband. “How can this be?she thought. “The Holy, Great I Am, asleep in my arms?” She turned her face towards her young, betrothed husband. “How can this be?” she whispered.

A gentle knock came to the door. “Who could it be this late in the evening?” said Joseph.  The thought of a cruel Roman soldier demanding a loaf of bread flew through his mind. Seething, his heart beat quickened and sweat beaded across his tanned forehead. He moved quickly to avert the intruders, before they woke the baby.

Reluctantly, the beaming face of a young shepherdess appeared in the darkened doorway. Light shone from her eyes as fire from within danced. Several other shepherdess crowded in behind her, pushing to see in.

“We’ve come to see the baby.” the leader of the small band breathless declared.

“The baby? How did you know/?” Joseph stood motionless for a moment. “Well. Come in. Come in. Of course, you can see the baby.”

A tale of a host of angels appearing in the sky announcing the birth of Messiah tumbled from their trembling lips all at once. “We left our sheep in the field, and ran to where the new star showed us.”

“The new star?” questioned Joseph. He ran outside to see for himself this miracle. With his head cocked backward, a glorious light shone above the Bethlehem home streaming beams of light like a beacon down to earth.

As the young girl cautiously approached Mary, the baby stirred. “Come. Come and see Messiah.”

He awoke staring into the face of a child not many years older than he. The young girl smiled, touching his cheek softly. “A baby. Messiah comes as a baby.” She turned to Mary. “The angel said, ‘Fear not. For I bring you tidings of great joy.’” She turned back to look into the gentle eyes. “Messiah.”  With a hand on her heart, she stepped back for the others to see.

Great joy and compassion filled the heart of the baby, as he watched each shepherdess stare in wonder. “For these, Abba? I’ve come for these?”

“Yes, my son, for the least of these. They are ready to receive you.” came the whisper inside again.

“Abba, will all receive me as these precious ones?”

“No, my son, many will reject you. You will rejected by many in Israel. But not all.”

The door closed behind the young girls as they rushed into the night to tell others of the wonders they had just witnessed. As the story was retold to many unexpecting bystanders, the story of angels appearing to lowly shepherds, many wondered what could this miracle mean.

“Joseph, we need a place for Jesus to sleep.” Mary meekly reminded her husband.

“Of course, my dove. Of course.” He quickly looked around the room to see what he could use. The only thing suitable was a feeding trough for the animals. He sighed. “Why couldn’t Messiah have been born in a palace or to rich people? He is the King.” Joseph shook his head in dismay.

I am not fit to be the father of Messiah.” This time Joseph spoke to the ceiling.

“What is this feeling, Abba?” thought Jesus.

That is the feeling of guilt and condemnation. Our enemy’s finest weapons. Many will use that against you. One day you will bear all their guilt, my son.”

Jesus let out a small whimper at the thought. Mary checked his cloths. “Time to change him. I’ll take care of Jesus, my husband. You prepare his bed.”

The leg of the feeding trough was loose, so Joseph being a good carpenter always carried a nail and hammer in his cloak pocket. Resourcefully, he pulled out his tools and hammered the nail into the wooden plank holding up the trough. Bang! His hammer missed the mark smashing his thumb.

“Ouch!” He flung his injured finger back, then thrust it in his mouth sucking on it. Silently, he whispered curses under his breath. “I can not even get the manger fixed right!”

The sound of the hammer hitting the nail and thrusting through the splintered wood alarmed Jesus. As his father cursed in pain, a sharp sensation jabbed through the baby’s own wrist. An image of the nail being thrust through his tender flesh flashed across his mind. He wailed, as his mama patted dry his behind and wrapped him tightly in clean cloths again.

“Abba, is it true? Is that what I’ve come to do?”

Son, you’ve come to lay down your life, so that they can be free. I love them, my son, it is the only way.”

A lamb bleated beside him.. Jesus turned to look to see where the noise had come from. “Like a little, innocent lamb, Abba?”

“Like a little, innocent lamb, my son. You will become the sacrifice that takes away the sins of all mankind.”

Joseph finished his work, lay fresh hay in the trough, gently took Jesus from Mary, and laid him in the manger.  The baby drifted off to sleep again, as the sheep settled around him. Joseph wrapped his arms around his exhausted wife.  As she leaned back into his embrace, she too found sleep, while Joseph watchfully guarded the precious treasure that was entrusted to his care.

“For He (the servant of God) grew up before Him like a tender shoot (plant), and like a root out of dry ground; He has no stately form or majestic splendor that we should look at Him, nor (handsome) appearance that would be attracted to Him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrow and pain and acquainted with grief; And like One from whom men hide their faces, He was despised, and we did not appreciate His worth or esteem Him. But (in fact) He has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows and pains; Yet we ignorantly assumed that He was stricken, Struck down by God and degraded and humiliated by Him. But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our wickedness (our sin, our injustice, our wrongdoing); The punishment (required) for our well-being fell on Him, And by His stripes (wounds) we are healed.” Is. 53:2-5

Have you ever fallen in love and become so passionately in love with the object of your desire that you want to mingle all of you with all of them? This is the essence of sexual attraction right? When we fall in love we desire to be one with our beloved. We want to connect fingers, toes, lips and every part in between to our counterpart in such a way that the line between us and them disappears. That is the consummation of intimacy.

Recently, not for the first time I heard Bethel’s Bill Johnson talk about the often quoted phrase people use when they want to say that they need to be more Christlike and less fleshly as they work for the Lord. They paraphrase John the Baptist as they say, ‘More of you Lord and less of me.’

Bill has a funny comeback to that phrase because he feels it is a misunderstanding of how God sees us. He says he imagines God hearing us say that and saying in response, “I don’t want less of you. I had less of you before I made you and I didn’t like it.”

This morning as I heard Bill say that, I had a realization that God is in search of greater intimacy between us and Him. To say that in love making I want less of me and more of my husband would be just weird. It would leave him ultimately alone and without the object of his passion. Not to be weird, but the same is true of our intimacy with God. To say more of you and less of me removes the “me” part of the relationship of intimacy that God is after.

I think God actually wants ALL of me and ALL of Him to co-mingle. He made me and you uniquely different from one another. When I give all of me and work together with Him in unity of Spirit, the result is unique. It cannot be reproduced by His union with anyone else. If I give of my true self and give ALL that I have to the work He sets before me, THEN He is satisfied and pleased at our union. He gets to enjoy the unique “me” He created me to be.

Similarly it has become a bit of a thorn in my side to hear fellow believers say, “Use me Lord” or, “I just want the Lord to use me…” Again if I apply this phrase to my relationship with my husband, it gets kind of weird in a hurry. I don’t think the Lord wants to “use” us. In this analogy of intimacy, that would be likening us to a prostitute, not a bride. I think the Lord loves to partner with us in our work for Him and with Him. He comes along side, He goes before us and behind us. He sets us up for success, and when we obey He calls it our win!

On the contrary, when I say less of me and all of You, I am waiting on God to fulfill both parts of the relationship and consummation is not possible.

If in human covenant the Lord designed us to desire oneness with the object of our love, is it too much to think that His love for us means that He desires to have His forehead to my forehead, His nose to my nose, His fingers to my fingers, His toes to my toes?

All of me and All of You Lord!

Have you ever looked out of an airplane window and marveled at how small the people, cars and buildings are down there. In fact, it doesn’t take long to get high enough that you can’t make out the people at all, even though you are still well within the atmosphere of the earth. When I was young, on one of my first flights, I quickly took this revelation of my smallness and expanded on it to think, how small I am from the perspective of space, just outside our atmosphere, and then from the perspective of God who is far beyond the outer reaches of space.

When you get a few minutes, about 8 minutes actually, check out this video, Our God Is Indescribable by Louie Giglio. Louie takes this little revelation and makes it visual for us.

Dame Julian of Norwich was a 14th century saint whom Catholics would call a mystic, but us Charismatics would call prophetic. Simply put, she was a woman who was in constant conversation with God. During one of her many “shewings” the Lord showed her all of Creation…ALL of Creation, contained in something the size of a hazelnut. Here is a quote from her writing entitled, “All Shall Be Well,”

“And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, ‘What may this be?’ And it was answered generally thus, ‘It is all that is made.’ I marveled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.”

— Julian of Norwich

In the book she goes on to describe how God holds this little hazelnut, ALL of Creation, in His pocket and cares for it, because He loves it.

Over the years since I first read the book that came from her journals, I have marveled at the fact that God loves us. That He has relationship with us, conversation with us, that He knows the full content of our thoughts, emotions, history, future, the number of hairs on each of our heads.

Recently, as I sat in a lovely shaft of light coming in the window of our home, I saw the many little particles of dust that I could only see because the light was shining on them as they drifted by. It occurred to me that God’s relationship to us humans could be likened, quite literally, to me having an intimate, lifelong relationship to each particle of dust in my house.

If I knew the deepest thoughts, longings of heart, questions of the soul, desires, loves, wounds, pleasures, memories, dreams, favorite relationships, every relationship, every word, every thought, every breath and which would be its last, the number of days of its life on earth, every detail of the life of this speck of dust. If I cared deeply about all of that, so much so that I would lay down my own life for that speck of dust to live and be free. If I communicated in every possible way to the speck of dust and told it how I see it through my eyes of love and if I spoke life and a future to it and I did this with every speck of dust in the universe of my house and then did ALL so that each speck could live with me forever in intimate relationship, this would be a little bit like what God has done for us, each of us, the dust He formed and then breathed His life into.

In this light, consider that the God of the Universe, the Maker of all that is, the Lord of Heavens Armies, I AM, speaks to me and to you. That He cares enough to speak life to us, to prophesy our lives and tell us of the good plans He has for us so that we have hope.

Consider that this same God gives us commands, assignments, and requests. I find that first amazing, but then too, somewhat daunting. This BIG God trusts me with the other specks of dust whom He loves and cares for too. This BIG God has called out a destiny for my speck of a life and He desires to see that destiny fulfilled…AND, He gives me a CHOICE about whether or not I obey Him! That might be the most amazing thing of all!

Recently I talked with a friend who was struggling with the bigness of the words that God had spoken to her. It just seemed too much for her to believe she could work that out in her lifetime. Actually, SHE can’t. It is often the case that the word of the Lord to us brings up in our minds (and too often out of our mouths,) the negative self-talk that we see Gideon display in Judges 6. But the truth is if we are not agreeing with God and partnering with Him toward the words He has said are for us, then we are partnering with the enemy instead against our own destiny. In that moment, it is our role to help our friends see themselves through the Father’s eyes and agree with who He says they are. My friend is a mighty warrior like Gideon. Her life doesn’t currently fulfill all of what God sees, so she was struggling, but I’m pretty sure, and now so is she, that He is probably right. 😄 We are practicing together to speak the truth and hold each other accountable to our true identity in Christ.

Most of us at times care deeply for the opinion of some of the other specks of dust in our lives, and yet, we often receive a word from God and either deny it or forget it just as quickly.

Until a few years ago, I had only learned how to give a prophetic word; how to hear from God and translate it into a word of edification, encouragement, or guidance for someone else. However I had not been taught what to do with those same kinds of words when they were given to me. If we assume that they are initiated by the Holy Spirit, then they are God-generated and therefore valuable. Shouldn’t we steward these words and cherish every word to us much-loved specks from the lips of our glorious God?

What would it look like if I truly believed that the destiny and plans that God has spoken forth for my life would come to pass? What would it look like if His words to me are precious? If I know and believe that God is not a man so He doesn’t lie, nor a son of man so He doesn’t change His mind,” (Numbers 23:19) what steps would I take toward the truth of His word? How would my prayer life change? Would I be constantly inquiring of the Lord for the next step, and then the next one? Would I stop worrying about whether or not it seemed right to anyone else in my life. Would I stop worrying, and instead, in times when the dream looks like it is on its last legs, proclaim from my mouth what God has said instead?

In the vastness of God’s plan, His design of all that is, He has a dream in His heart for my life and your life, because He loves us and He loves those He will touch through us. If we’re listening, He shares His dream with me and with you. In that moment of receiving His precious words, His dream for my life, my own words fail me. But when my voice returns, the most important thing I can say is, “Yes Papa, I agree with you. I don’t know how to get there, but I trust you.”

Aimlessly, I wove in and out of the rows of rose bushes in one of the grandest gardens in our country, the Biltmore Gardens. A dear friend, who breathes flowers, trees, and anything green, had tagged along, as I had invited her to join my family on our afternoon excursion knowing how much it would bring her joy. My hopes had been that the roses would still be in full bloom, but they had begun their seasonal dying off process. Instead of vibrant pinks, yellows, reds, and fiery oranges, fading colors with browning edges and wilting petals surrounded us.

My heart sank with sadness and disappointment at the changing of the season, the dying off of the old to make way for something new. I couldn’t see beyond the present decaying process, but my friend on the other hand almost skipped through the garden enjoying the beauty that still lingered and anticipating the new life on the horizon.

My eyes brimmed with tears that rolled hot down my cheeks. “What’s wrong?” my friend sensitively inquired.  “It’s my grandma. I keep thinking of her as I’m walking among these roses. I thought they’d still be in full bloom, but they, like my grandma, are at the end of their life.” I paused and took a deep breath of the lingering fragrance. “I’m also disappointed you didn’t get to see them in their glory.”

I looked away to hide the embarrassment of my flowing tears and red, swollen eyes. My friend swung her arm around my shoulder, comforting me with all the right words about why seasons must change, and how this has to happen for there to be new growth, new life. The seed must fall to the ground and die for new things to spring forth.

Two weeks ago, the seed finally fell. My heart broke, as I threw a single, red rose on my grandma’s coffin awaiting her burial in the freshly dug earth. Even when death was expected, necessary, and even in some sense a relief because she is no longer in pain and with Jesus instead; still it has left a hole in my heart.

I’ve been met with many comments of well meaning friends. Some have offered comfort, and some have added salt in the wound. In our American culture, we simply don’t handle the topic well at all. Most want to ignore the idea of death altogether, as if we will live eternally here. Our spirits do live eternally either in heaven or hell, but our bodies will die, until Jesus makes that right.

Others just want you to move on with it, saying: “What’s done is done.” “She’s in a better place.” “You should be happy for her!” Only a few weep and mourn with you, as Jesus would. Jesus said in the sermon on the mount, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”Jesus didn’t say don’t mourn.In fact, He put value on it, and gives us hope on the other side of it, “you will be comforted.” In Jewish culture, they even had professional mourners who would come to add to the affect.

Even though it was never God’s original intent that anything or anyone die, He uses it to birth beautiful things, and somehow, He values the mourning process, because He calls us blessed when we have to walk through it.

Faithfully, Papa places people in our lives that we need at the right times. My grandmother was one of those special people. From the time she first cuddled me in her arms, I knew she loved me and was safe in her embrace. As I grew up, it was her house I longed to be at for it was a haven from the life of traumatic chaos I had at home.

Obviously she had her own woundedness to work through, as she had been raised in some extremely abusive environments herself. Many times, she told me stories of her and her half sister hiding under their front porch when her drunken stepmother would come home from the local bar. They were afraid of what she might do to them. She also shared heart warming stories of kind nurses who taught her how to make a bed with hospital corners, as she spent two years in hospitals recovering from a broken arm that left her crippled for the rest of her life.

As I’ve contemplated her influence in my life, I’ve realized that most of the things I now love, came from her in some way. My love for prayer, writing, painting, and even my professional choice of teaching came from summers I’d spent with her talking, dreaming, and creating on her back porch on the side of a mountain. If it weren’t for her intercession over my life, and the safe, loving environment she offered me, I know I’d not be here. She was the first on my mother’s side to accept Christ and thus change the course of generations.

Legacy. She left a legacy with her life of faithful love. Few came to her funeral, an unsung hero, but she did not go unnoticed in the courts of heaven.

Once, I asked Papa about eternity, and He told me that trying to understand eternity was like trying to look at the world through a knothole in a wooden fence. We simply can’t understand all the why’s of life, joy, love, sorrow, suffering, eternity. And yet He takes my hand, inviting me to trust Him to make something beautiful of my sometimes-muddled life.  He makes beauty out of this ball of clay.

I wince at the pain of loving, but loving is better than the alternative. Feeling better than numbness. I’ve lived in the numbness for decades, but this time, in this season, I feel. And Jesus sits with me in the waves of emotion that seem to overwhelm me in the moment. This time, I’m not afraid of being sucked under, but I sit with Him in it, like a child with her daddy sitting on the edge of the sandy beach with the waves washing over us.

I look in His eyes of compassion, and I hear Him say, “One day, dear one, you will understand. One day, you will see fully. For now, sit with me here, for blessed are they that mourn, for they will be comforted.” I see a glimmer of delight and joy in His eyes, as He says the words. In it, I don’t understand all His purposes or ways, but here with Him I’ll sit, til it’s time to go play in the waves with Him again.

My mom handed me a plain envelope today with my name scribbled on the outside. My grandma had left me a poem written by her. I leave it with you.

I’ve traveled paths you’ve yet to walk

Learned lessons old and new

And now this wisdom of my life

I’m blessed to leave with you.

Let kindness spread like sunshine

Embrace those who are sad

Respect their dignity; give them joy

And leave them feeling glad.

Forgive those who might hurt you

And though you have your pride

Listen closely to their viewpoint

Try to see the other side.

Walk softly when you’re angry

Try not to take offense

Invoke your sense of humor

Laughter’s power is immense!

Express what you are feeling

Your beliefs you should uphold

Don’t shy away from what is right

Be courageous and be bold

Keep hope right in your pocket

It will guide you day by day

Take it out when it is needed

When it’s near, you’ll find a way

Remember friends and family

Of which you are a precious part

Love deeply and love truly

Give freely from your heart

The world is far from perfect

There’s conflict and there’s strife

But you still can make a difference

By how you live your life.

And so I’m very blessed to know

The wonders you will do

Because you are my granddaughter

And I believe in you.

By Mae Elizabeth Tatum

Have you ever wondered why Jesus chose fishermen for the majority of his first disciples? Not exactly the most respected, refined, educated group of guys to represent His Kingdom. Then there’s the fragrance! Hmmm?

Today as I was doing some manual labor, the Lord dropped some revelation on me:

Fisherman were tradesman. A fisherman learned his trade by working alongside his Dad or someone who didn’t just tell him about fishing, but showed him how to fish on the job! They were natural hands-on learners.

In our circles, many run to Prophetic conferences and Healing Conferences and Kingdom conferences, and they gain lots of knowledge, but we are not seeing the world turned upside down. I know there are some out there doing the works of Jesus, but compared to the number going to conferences, a meager few.

So, here’s the thing. Jesus had the disciples watch only for so long. Then he sent them out, without him, to DO the works of the Kingdom! This Kingdom lifestyle, it’s hands-on!

No doubt they too were nervous. They weren’t sure they could do what Jesus did so easily. But they stepped up and applied their knowledge and transformed it into experience.

When the 70 were sent out for the first time, they “returned with joy and said, “Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name!” Luke 10:17 NIV. They were surprised! They didn’t know if the stuff would “work.” But they went out and gave it a try.

After He sent them out the first time, they worked right alongside him. Sometimes without great success. Even that was a learning experience. (See Mark 9:17-29) Our modern culture likes to have methods. Winging it is worrisome. But when you realize it is not the least bit about you or your performance, it is entirely liberating!

Doing the work of the Kingdom is not about your expertise or your certificate that says you know how to do it. It is about the Holy Spirit demonstrating through you, an earthen vessel, HIS power and love and you demonstrating your faith that He will be there for you. It is about Holy Spirit demonstrating what the finished work of Jesus Christ bought for us; the fullness of salvation.

Here’s the thing, sisters and brothers. If we are given this amazing authority and commanded to go and do everything we have seen Jesus do and we bury it, who can complain that the hospitals are full, our friends and family are suffering from all the works of the enemy and the world is getting worse and worse. It’s on us.

I propose that instead of going to one more conference, you first put to work what you have already received. If you have a Bible and read it, you have enough to get started.

In the ‘Parable of the Talents’ in Luke 19;:11-27 more is given to the one who does something with what they are already given. The one who buried it lost even the little he started with. Jesus has already given us access to the ‘talents’ we are supposed to steward and make multiply. He has given us His authority to heal, to deliver, to cleanse, to raise the dead.

If you want to heal cancer, start praying for someone who has cancer. The worst thing to happen if they are not healed is that they still have cancer. But if, instead, you bury your ‘talent’ and won’t even start there, out of fear that the Lord will punish your imperfection, you won’t ever have something to give him back. That did not end well for the servant in the Parable of the Talents.

The story of Peter and the boys fishing all night is an excellent example of expertise not affecting the outcome. Peter, a professional, earning fisherman is thought to have been a business owner with many boats. This same Peter had been fishing all night, using all his knowledge and experience and yet had caught nothing. Then Jesus came and told him to throw the net on the right side of the boat.

I’m sure Peter was thinking, “Oh! Why didn’t I think of that!? The right side? Brilliant! Thanks Jesus!” By that point he had probably thrown the net from every possible side with no catch. None of his known methods had worked… until, led by the Spirit (who led Jesus), he was astoundingly successful!

What better way to increase the Kingdom than to demonstrate it to the afflicted. The guy who was possessed by a legion of demons got set free and became an instant evangelist. We are not simply healing people, we are enlisting them!

When the 70 returned joyfully elated that even the demons submitted to them in Jesus’ name, he told them not to be amazed, because the greater miracle was their salvation. The victory of Jesus’ suffering and death is already accomplished for us. We need to put our hands forcefully to catching the abundance netted for us in the resurrection.

The enemy is advancing on your family and mine. It is a time to grab hold of all that the Kingdom of Heaven offers to us and to the world. Stay focused on how you have seen the Kingdom of Heaven demonstrated (if only in the Bible). Grab hold of it with your two hands and take it by force!

In the beginning, God was edited. The serpent initiated deception in Genesis 3:1 by asking Eve, “Has God said, ‘You shall not eat of any tree of the garden?’”. The serpent twisted what God spoke to Adam, with a little truth and a lot of lie. The original instruction from God was in Genesis 2, “Of every tree of the garden you may eat freely, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat of it, or you will die.” Eve counters the serpent with an addition to what the instruction had been, “You shall not eat of it, neither shall you touch it, or you will die.” We have been editing God ever since.

What do I mean by editing God? Editing God is making God in our own image. It’s manipulating or changing what the God of heaven says and does, to fit what makes us comfortable. We pick and choose pieces of His character or parts of the Bible that make us feel good enough, a nice pat on the back, but stay away from the parts that convict us.

A few years ago, my husband and I sat side by side in a Sunday morning church service, as our pastor began his sermon on the Holy Spirit. As he began describing the Holy Spirit, he asked us to imagine the Holy Spirit as a friend standing next to him. He raised his arm in the air, as if to put his arm around his imaginary friend, as he said, “I’ve given the Holy Spirit a new name. His name is Buddy.” He went on to describe friendship with “Buddy”, but the more he spoke the more nauseated I became. Honestly, I thought I would vomit, and it was as if in my head I could hear the boom echo over the speaker system, “The Holy Spirit has left the building.” Within months, we were forced to find another church. Our probably well-meaning pastor placed the precious Holy Spirit in his parameters of “Buddy”, his friend, and it felt like the real person of the Trinity took a polite bow and left. Holy Spirit is my best friend, but He is not my buddy, my home boy. He’s not in any way on the same level as me. Like the rest of the Godhead, He is far above me, and I highly respect and honor His presence, not wanting ever to grieve Him.

Yesterday, my daughter came home from public high school relaying to me the brilliance of her English teacher. In class, they are discussing the Scarlet Letter, so her teacher decided to put the answers to her well thought out questions in a statistics format on the their laptops, allowing each student to remain anonymous. Painfully, my daughter came to the realization that she was in the minute minority on every question asked. Basically, she was one of the three in a class of thirty with any moral compass at all. The overwhelming majority cast their votes to do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted, as long as it felt good to them. Basically, they wanted to be their own God, and saw no direct consequence to that way of thinking. They couldn’t even begin to understand why someone would want to “do what’s right”, because after all there is no right or wrong.

When we edit God, making Him in our own image, we put ourselves in a place where we become our own God. We craft our own sacred poles (idols) bowing down in worship of an image we’ve constructed. Many would say we have no idols today. The truth is anything we depend on to bring us comfort or to take the place of the true God, becomes an idol. We have placed it as a God in our lives or, at least, an edited version of God,

In my own life, my friendships with others has been the place I’ve run to for safety or comfort instead of to God. As He has shifted many of those relationships in the past year, I’ve found myself an emotional mess, wanting to hold onto things I shouldn’t. I love people, and I want to love like He does, deeply, purely. But when I run to them to fill me instead of Papa, I’ve made them into an idol.

One story that the Holy Spirit has reminded me of a lot lately, is the story of Gideon. When God came to him, the first thing he was instructed to do was to take down the altar of Baal and the sacred pole his father had erected to worship false Gods. God spoke to my heart, “If Gideon would have failed to destroy the altar and pole, he would never have fulfilled his destiny; defeating the Midianites.”

God is love. He cares for us and is compassionate beyond anything we can imagine. This is why He’s developed the relationship with me as my Papa. He is my loving father. Out of that love, He is also the great “I Am”, the Highest King, the Potter, my Maker, the Creator of the Universe . He doesn’t ask me for my opinion on how to run things. He puts me in situations often that I don’t like, that make me very uncomfortable. He asks me to trust Him, when nothing makes sense. He demonstrates His power in me when I am completely powerless. He signs me up for classes that I didn’t ask for, and gives me tests that I don’t want to take. He’s the Lord. He’s the boss. I am not.

He does let me partner with Him to do things on the earth that He wants done. I still think that is crazy; that He loves us enough to include us. That’s family. We are His kids, and He wants us to partner with Him to take dominion on the earth. We are Priests in His courts and can come before Him interceding for others, just like Jesus does for us. Even in all of this though, I am coming into agreement with His thoughts, His plans, His intent. He doesn’t consult me, I agree with Him.

He’s not my genie in a bottle, that I just run to when I have a problem, rub the bottle, and poof He answers my request. He does want to be involved in every aspect of my life, so when I misplace my keys for the tenth time today, yes, He wants to help me find them. And often He does, but if that’s where my relationship ends with Him, and I treat Him like a convenience store, I have reduced the Holy of Holies to a lucky rabbit’s foot.

In worship, recently, the Holy Spirit jolted me. I felt like He said, “My children choose masturbation over the real thing.” Well, that honestly kind of shocked me, but I leaned into the voice and asked for understanding. In a marriage, obviously, the most intimate time is sexual intercourse. Many times, lovers chose an imitation to the real thing like masturbation and/or pornography, because it’s something they can control and manipulate, satisfying the flesh without exposing their heart. In the intimacy of the marriage bed, flesh to flesh, heart to heart, we can’t hide. God awakes us to His love. Jealous for our affection, for our naked heart, He will not settle for an imitation instead of the real thing. He is done with His bride running to everyone else for what they should be getting from Him. He is drawing His bride into his intimate love. He’s jealous for us. Nothing can substitute for the real thing.

My friends, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah is coming. I believe He is bringing the passionate, relentless, fire of His love, but He is also restoring the fear of the Lord. You can not have one without the other. You don’t get to pick and choose. He is bringing both. And if we get uncomfortable with that, and we try to edit God, fitting Him into our own little box of expectations, He will leave and go elsewhere. He will not be placed in neat little boxes of our own making. If He leaves, we will be left with an empty, meaningless program. That may look good for a while, but in the end will leave us with nothing but a dead, hollow imitation that won’t fulfill us, but will suck life from us.

Graham Cooke says “I started to understand some things about the nature of God – that He is not like any other human being I have ever met. And the reason for that, He is not human. He is divine. He is altogether different. And so I thought for me what that meant was I should never try to make God in my image. I never try to make Him like all the people who have ever disappointed me or betrayed me.”

Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night with the song, “Tightrope” from the Greatest Showman gently playing in my head.

“Some people long for a life that is simple and planned. Tied with a ribbon. Some people won’t sail the sea, cause they’re safer on land to follow what’s written, but I’d follow you to the great unknown. Off to a world we call our own. Hand in my hand, and we promise to never let go. We’re walking a tightrope. High in the sky we can see the whole world down below. We’re walking a tightrope. Never sure, never know how far we could fall. But it’s all an adventure that comes with a breathtaking view. Walking a tight rope with you.”

He loves us. He’s wooing us to take His hand and let Him lead us on this grand adventure, but we must take Him fully, as He is. Unedited.

Yesterday a few of us spent a couple hours praying in the Spirit together. It was a beautiful time and and at one point our host felt the need to play the song, “Fly” by Jason Upton. You can find it here on Youtube. In the live recording, Jason is apparently accompanied by the voice of an angel. As I lay on the floor listening and praying, my body trembled at the beauty of the close-yet-far-away sound.

This morning as I was thanking the Lord for what He did with us yesterday, my mind went to a favorite passage in 2 Samuel 5, when David has been freshly anointed King of both Israel and Judah and had made Zion his fortress by crushing the prideful Jebusites. Then the Philistines, Israel’s old foe came against him.

The intel was that they wanted to take him personally, so David fled into hiding. Being a man of action, He asked the Lord, “Should I go out to fight the Philistines?” “Yes,” the Lord says, “I will surely hand them over to you.” So David went and defeated the Philistines. But being slow learners, after awhile the Philistines returned. In one of the many great examples of David’s wisdom and humility, He did not immediately go out to fight them again, but asked the Lord once again.

²³ And again David asked the Lord what to do. “Do not attack them straight on,” the Lord replied. “Instead, circle around behind and attack them near the poplar^[f] trees. ²⁴ When you hear a sound like marching feet in the tops of the poplar trees, be on the alert! That will be the signal that the Lord is moving ahead of you to strike down the Philistine army.” 2 Samuel 5:23-24 NLT

As I considered my physical reaction to just the voice of one angel singing yesterday, I asked the Lord, “How did they go forward Lord?” Trembling yet rejoicing when they heard the mighty sound of the angel armies in the poplar trees. The great loudness, at once far away and yet reverberating in their very beings.

The fear and trembling of acknowledged power and immensity, and yet the great joy of knowing that your vast power was for them! Trembling legs carried them forward as joy welled up in their bellies giving them your strength.

Tears of joy on the battlefield as they saw their enemies kill one another and flee before them. 

Wonder in their hearts as the victory was theirs as they stood on the battlefield as spectators of the war on their behalf, and yet they were allowed to claim the triumph as their own.

The time is upon us when we will again see the power of God work mightily on our behalf. Father let us have eyes to see, ears to hear, hearts to understand. Give us the steely resolve to wait until we hear the heavenly troops marching in the poplars above us on our behalf. Give us eyes to see the forces engaged before us routing the enemy, hearts to receive your love, and legs to run into the triumph you have already won for us.

 Then he said, “There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’11-12

 “So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.12-16

 “That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.17-20

 “When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’20-21

 “But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.22-24

“All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the houseboys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has ordered a feast—barbecued beef!—because he has him home safe and sound.’25-27 

 “The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’28-30

 “His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’”31-32  Luke 15:11-32 The Message (MSG)

I home school two of my children. Last year for our Bible class, I read the book, “Compelled by Love” by Heidi Baker to my girls. While finishing it up, we saw an ad for a conference where she would be speaking, so we loaded up the kids and headed on our family vacation to attend.

One evening while she spoke, she announced that the next great reformation would begin with the prodigals coming home. She kept calling for the church to have fresh bread to give them, that if the churches don’t have fresh bread when the prodigal children come home, they will go hungry and go elsewhere. Her message really resonated with me, for I had just had a friend of mine run away from her family.

There have been times in my own life that I felt like running away. Sometimes, I’ve thought those I love would be better off without me. Honestly, my fear of what the consequences would be is what held me home. Deep down, I’ve also had an abiding desire to please God. I’ve known how that would disappoint Him. Sometimes, after people hear my story they are amazed I’ve not run, rejecting the church, God, and everything Christian. I suppose I had every reason to reject the “religious institution” of “church”. For whatever reason, fear of the pig pen and having to eat pig slop, or really wanting to do what is right, I stayed and have painfully wrestled out my relationships and healing.

As I’ve watched others bolt, there have been times that I’ve even played the part of the older brother, with quick judgment of why they left, and more judgments when they have returned. There have been times in my life that I’ve avoided at all cost the broken, because I was afraid if I got close my own brokenness would be revealed. But the more I’ve pressed into my own mess, and let Jesus come and heal me, my heart somehow more resembles His heart, and I’ve longed for the return of my brothers and sisters. Some have returned, some have begun to wake up and think about coming home, and some are still lost. When they do decide to return, they face what I did as well, if I reveal my brokenness, if I come back home, will I be welcomed, or will I be judged and shoved away?

I was tested in this recently, when across from me sat a woman with large piercings, colored hair, and dark tattoos. I heard the whisper in my ear, “Go sit by her and talk.” I didn’t hesitate, but got up and sat down with a smile. A couple of years ago, I may have obeyed, but would have done it shaking on the inside. She told me her story, and said it was the non-judgmental love of her husband that had brought her to Christ. She struggled to know where she fit in “church”, because so many “churches” wouldn’t accept her. I could tell she still had icky residue left over from her life before Christ. She had been a witch, a pagan and still was dabbling a bit with some questionable things. But all I felt towards her was the compassionate heart of the Father. All I saw in her eyes was a little girl who wanted to be loved.

This leads us to the heart of the Father. I love the heart of the Father. He gives us free will and let’s us walk away, yet every second we are gone, He waits patiently for us to come to our senses and come home. And yes, it cost Him. Not just the loss of our inheritance. It cost the life of His son, Jesus. And yet, He waits, He longs, He expects us any minute. And when we show up at the end of the driveway, He doesn’t just walk out or stand at the door; He, the God of the universe, runs to meet us, throws His arms around us and smothers us with kisses. He reinstates us as sons and daughters, even before we can ask His forgiveness. He throws his robe across our shoulders, and puts His ring on our finger. He celebrates us. What was lost is now found. What was dead is now alive. There is much bread in His house for the ones coming home. In fact, He throws a feast!

I believe that Heidi Baker’s words are true. The next great reformation will begin with the lost children coming home, The question is will God’s children be ready to receive them. Will we have Papa’s heart towards them? Will we be willing to embrace them with the pig pen ick still caked on their legs? Will we celebrate them, and love them back to life? Will there be bread in the house?